In my graduate studies and practice as a minister, I teach spiritual practices that connect the Christian tradition of scripture, prayer, and worship to emotional intelligence, embodiment, and mindfulness. As a mom, I hope to ground my young son’s faith in this as well.

Eek! Said Amy by L.J. Zimmerman and Charles Long is one of the best tools I have found for this. The story explores body and emotions with a boy named Devon and Amy, his amygdala. They’re a great team, most of the time, but Amy sometimes gets in “red alert!” and Devon struggles with very big fear at some small things like a little bug, social anxiety, or stepping on a sidewalk crack. These worries are relatable for children, and so are the hopeful practices offered: a talk with mom, a simple breathing meditation, and some Bible verses to memorize and remember when things are scary.

I read this with my son who’s 20 months old, and while it’s aimed at older children, he was engaged with the book. He requested, “Amy?” “Emotions?” long after we put the book away. My five year old nephew connected more deeply, wondering if he has an amygdala, too, and practicing deep breaths full of God’s love along with Devon. This is a book to grow into, with layers of emotional intelligence, body awareness, and prayer for different developmental stages.

Also, it’s funny. The pictures and dialogue are clever, and I didn’t hate reading it five times in a row for a toddler. And let’s be real, mamas — that matters, too.

You can order Eek! Said Amy on Amazon or from Abingdon Press this week! I will definitely be buying a few copies for friends and family, and keep on revisiting it with my child. With the terrible twos around the corner, we can probably both use some deep breaths of God’s love and a gentle reminder that God can help us be brave through big emotions.

This is the third offering from “Keep Watch With Me: An Advent Reader for Peacemakers” written by the #seminarymama. Sign up for this free daily resource here.

Psalm 80:1-7
Shepherd of Israel, listen!
You, the one who leads Joseph as if he were a sheep.
You, who are enthroned upon the winged heavenly creatures.
Show yourself before Ephraim, Benjamin, and Manasseh!
Wake up your power!
Come to save us!
Restore us, God!
Make your face shine so that we can be saved!
Lord God of heavenly forces,
how long will you fume against your people’s prayer?
You’ve fed them bread made of tears;
you’ve given them tears to drink three times over!
You’ve put us at odds with our neighbors;
our enemies make fun of us.
Restore us, God of heavenly forces!
Make your face shine so that we can be saved!

Aside from writing and ministry, I’m actively engaged in the non-professional peacemaking of raising a toddler with my partner. Our child has unbounded curiosity and unbounded feelings. Massive dramas of disappointment, frustration, failure, and grief play out each day, and I must practice presence and compassion. Sitting with those big toddler feelings has been shown to better develop resilience, empathy, peace and calm in children over the long haul.

Practicing this with my child takes time, slows me down, and reminds me to practice it with myself. I feel disappointment, frustration, failure, and grief: with national politics and inequitable development, the church’s anxious idolatry of institution, with my own inner struggles as the days shorten and demands of seminary, work, and parenthood feel endless, with the 24 hour news cycle of suffering.

Today’s psalm is the prayer of a suffering people, who look at their lives and see only God’s absence. “How long will you be angry? Restore us!” They are abandoned, shamed, alone, hopeless. They are carrying more than anyone can bear.

But we know that the prayer of a moment, a song of emotion, is rarely the whole picture.

Year after year, we go through the season of Advent before Christmas, a liturgical season of penitence and preparation to celebrate that God always intervenes. We sit with the already and not-yet of Jesus come and coming, and we read lamentations and prophecies of judgment with knowledge of coming peace. For Christians, silence, waiting, and death are not the end of the story, but we must sit with them nonetheless.

Our sorrows are here and now. Our worries are life and death for ourselves and for the people we love. They need holy attention. And they are not the whole picture.

This Advent, we keep watch together so that we might grow a gritty, holy hope. We encourage one another to active peace building. We are choosing to do the hard inner work of being still, grieving, hoping, noticing, and becoming a little more peaceful within, so that as the apostle writes, we would be strengthened and faithful, in fellowship with Christ’s work of peace incarnate.